It appears I am a wanted felon. OK, not a felon, just a wanted infraction flaunter.
Summer’s not such a tough time for those of us with an unrepentant sweet tooth, but that candy-corn holiday is on its way, followed swiftly by iced sugar cookies.
You feel like such a chump. All this time you thought you were a pretty good driver and then some police officer decides it’s time you learned, or were reminded of, one of the finer points of the traffic code.
I fancied myself rather worldly and sophisticated. It seems, instead, I have lived a rather sheltered existence.
Do I look younger? I’m sure I must. I just spent a glorious evening drinking exotic cocktails with four of my son’s adorable 20-something friends.
I wish it were just a summer problem. However, in my gentle husband’s “lower 40” (front, back and side yards) bugs, both flying and crawling, happily make their home.
Well, I may well be grappling with gangrene by the time you read this, as I just broke the first rule of having your hand wrapped in a big, annoying cast-bandage thingy. I got it a little bit wet.
I have such fond memories of summer. It meant long, lazy days to read fat books, enjoy carefree beach time and homemade ice cream.